


To teach her, to learn him

by WorriedWarrior_Izzy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Dark Castle, F/M, Smut, blindfolded fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6933121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorriedWarrior_Izzy/pseuds/WorriedWarrior_Izzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpel sits blindfolded in the Dark Castle, giving Belle leave to touch him as she wishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To teach her, to learn him

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to @endangeredslug for test/beta-reading. My first dabbeling into anything needing the mature rating.

 

This was about learning.

 

She had wanted him to teach her how to - how to please a man. How to undo him.

Her old gold dress draped over a chair, she smoothes her hands over this new soft gown. High necked and fitted, falling in long fluting folds to the floor. Simple, exquisite.

Like everything in his castle.

She is nude underneath but only she knows that.

Candlelight gently bathes the room in a golden glow. The stark red of the duvet contrasts to the black of the room and her blue silhouette. He is clothed, same shirt and leather trousers as any other day, feet bare on the rich carpet. The blindfold is secure across his face; he doesn’t react when she appears, merely sits there, knees spread, leaning back, cool and silent as she approaches.

No magic. No words. He added the blindfold.

They both agreed to the rules.

He does smell her the moment she stands before him, those elegant nostrils flaring a little at the scent of rose cream and parchment dust. It rises off her skin, through the thin fabric of the gown, clogs the air with so much deceptive sensuality.

He holds his hand out and she takes it without hesitation. Her small breakable fingers trapped  in his cool long dexterous hand, she flashes back to the moment she first laid hers into the scaly, shimmering one of his.

He eases her forward till she stands between his spread legs and his fingers leave the thin skin of her inner wrist. Her eyes roam the smooth curves of that strange, enticing face, unable to keep from touching.

He lets her.

Without fear, she bends her face to his and slides her smooth cheek against his scaled one. It feels so right when he leans into her, the instinctive response of a mute, almost animalistic waif. They share a breath, rose petal delicate, trembling between their parted lips.

Somehow it reminds them both of the barrier between them. He twitches the blindfold into place.

Silently, he guides her hand to the open collar of his shirt. Her fingertips remember the feel of his skin, clinging to the grain. There are no ladders here. She keeps her attention riveted to his face as her nails slowly drag over the contours of bare collarbone.

He’s agreed to this. He will obey the rules set. He will be all reaction, only, the expression of face and breath and body to guide and teach her.

Perhaps she should feel humbled, awkward. The gawkish girl educated by a so much older- man. But no, somehow here and now like this Belle grows heady with fascination, euphoric with the freedom to do and undo.

Finally allowed to feel, explore, and do as she wishes.

She slides open the buttons on his shirt and slides her fingers in, relishing the slight tremor of muscle when her nail finds nipple. Their breath warm in the space between, he bares one half of his chest and she doesn’t need her hand to be guided there, doesn’t need but, oh yes likes very much the hand that cradles the back of her head. Sinks in her hair.  So warm.

He tastes warm, dry, with the slightest hint of spices and magic. His fingers skim the corner of her mouth as she tugs and tongues the stiff tightening skin. She melts a little when he slips the tips of his fingers into her mouth, finds the catch of her teeth.

It’s not a rebuke, it’s a suggestion. He leans a fraction into her and Belle bares her teeth with something like delight. Seizing, nibbling, biting his flesh  with a whole new intensity. And it’s a definite satisfaction to hear the involuntary moan half bitten off, a wonderful raw sound from the back of this throat.

Her skin streaking with heat, Belle surges upward, slings her leg boldly over to straddle his thighs.

He’ll stop her if she goes wrong, but he doesn’t; lets her swarm all over him, brushes of breast and stomach and inner thigh with her soft gown caught and sliding between them. Belle drags the thin shirt halfway down the gold -hued arms, enough so he’s held and confined, enough so she can run her fingers along the light trail of hair darkening downwards.

When she palms his cock through the trousers, he pulls in a sharp breath, arches into her hand and grabs her wrist. It’s so familiar, his grip a little too tight for comfort-yet the safest thing in the world, and she smiles wildly at his blindfolded face, forgetting herself and giddy with it.

But he’s only stopped her to show her. With precious few inches of air between them, he helps her undo his trousers and guides her hand in. Wraps her fingers around the living warmth  of his cock, and Belle’s not sure if she blushes with mortification or sheer arousal.

Not her jailor, not ever. Neither master, nor beast. Just a man. Just him. Her guide and guardian, her erstwhile saviour from solitude, her path to freedom and so much more.

He knows her mouth is a mere breath from his, she knows she mustn’t, that would be the worst and most final of betrayals.

So she sighs softly against the ravaged curve of his cheekbone and slides her fist along the sleek lovely curve of his cock.

Is he erect just for her? Or is it merely such indulgence after years of enforced celibacy? Here and now, with all she’s seen and heard as a woman not a girl, Belle thinks she may understand.

 

The body yearns.

 

Belle pulls her skirt higher on bare legs, all the better to squirm closer to the irresistible heat and hard maleness of him, and he steadies her with one hand on her hip.

He teaches her a different rhythm. Longer, harder, decisive strokes with an upward twist that looks so deliciously brutal. And when, on a hunch, she lets her nails rasp, his mouth parts, bares teeth on a ragged, rough breath. The sight of that mouth, the glint of teeth reminds Belle. Another mystery to uncover. Rediscover.

She goes down, a swift lick of that lovely spot beneath his navel, and the swallow of his cock is all kinds of gorgeous delirious wrongbadbeautiful.

He groans, a definite despairing delighted sound from his chest. One hand locks on the back of her neck, she will not break free unless he lets her. And this only makes Belle push ever closer into the spread of his tensed thighs, inadvertently beginning a rhythm that feels so so right. He thrusts into her mouth, she sucks back onto his cock, inescapable taste and thickness and so much hot wetness. Belle  feels it through her whole body, the ceaseless rhythmical thump of cockhead through lips that echoes the rhythm of her round ripe heart, how it sets her hips moving in a rhythm so primal embarrassing but oh god so so necessary.

He holds her in place, thrusts into her mouth, savaging himself on her teeth and tongue and sucking throat, and Belle’s belly curls and curls tighter lower hotter, slickness coating the inside of her thighs. And this time she has to, just has to touch herself, scrabbling past her skirts to push the heel of her hand against that sinfully deliciously wet clenching place. The smell of her rises like an assault, unmistakable and molten sweet, and he lurches forward, bends over her with both hands holding her now. He must smell her, couldn’t possibly not.

But, before she can even formulate a reaction, he clutches her throat hard.

Belle panics, eyes flying open and up.

It’s a warning and she watches it happen, fascinated.

Feels it, tastes it, takes it when he comes. He arches, all bone- pale, sweat-slicked scarred beauty, the blindfold so starkly black against the tide of heat sweeping the cheekbones, his face cut deep by those twin grooves framing that sharp mouth splitting on an exquisite snarl.

He comes in spurts and spasms down her throat, thick and bitter and strange, spilling out of her mouth, the smell thick and rich and slightly sweet.

Belle chokes, splutters a little as she pulls off but he doesn’t let her go, merely loosens his hold as he slumps forward, his breathing deep and ragged. On her knees, she looks up into his slightly vulnerable face, looks at the strip of blinding black and wonders about those golden piercing eyes.

Would he be there?

She still pulses, that aching unfulfilled twist between her thighs, but perhaps that can’t be helped.

Not here, not now.

She had wanted guidance, knowledge and now has it. Be sated. Belle stands, moves towards the door on silent if somewhat shaky feet.

“Belle.”

Belle freezes, hand on the door, too shocked to even look. But there is no imagining that voice. It’s snarls in daylight, it purrs and seduces her in  the shadows. The mere sound of him strokes her very soul with heat.

He sits calm on the edge of the bed, shirt and trousers still undone, his cock softening against his thigh and smeared with the evidence of her lesson.

“Rumplestilskin.”, she whispers at the door.

 

Names hold power here.

 


End file.
